Day 43: Blois to Tours. Approx 40 miles.

No wind!!!!! AND I was off to see someone I know for the first time since London.

Another shocking revelation is how much faster days can be done when there is a super exciting prize at the end. I managed to make it Tours in just 4 and a half hours (if any of you "professional cyclists" wish to laugh at this then screw you, I'm pleased with it). The journey was pretty uneventful so I won't bore you trying to come up with some filler chat.

Sappho had text me saying that they were on the river bank getting a few bevvies so I decided to try to get to them without alerting them to my arrival in Tours. Having found the river all I had to do was cycle along and hope I was on the same side as them. True enough I was and after 10 minutes I spotted them...folk I know!!!! Sappho's face was a picture, kind of total amazement mixed with excitement mixed with what the fuck are you wearing Jo. Ha!

Lots of hugs and excitement were followed by a lovely mix of Guiness and unpleasantly warm cider, yummy. The relief of being back with familiar folk was amazing! More Guiness, more cider then off to the hostel to dump the bike and assorted shit then out into the Tours nightlife. Went to a few pubs after some much needed chips and cheese because, being in France, you can't get dinner until at least 8pm. Booze, booze, booze and no need to worry about the safety of the bike or myself, hurrah!

Dinner ended up being a rather silly affair; at least I have a crack at speaking the language, those two meanwhile just speak English very slowly, much to the amusement of the waiter. These two are the reason I'm cycling an extra 200ish miles:

Day 42: Orleans to Blois. Approx 40 miles.

Oh dear....

Woke up at half 11 in a room with two other folk snoring heavily. Into the sitting room to try to gather my shit and have a wash to find another million folk sleeping in between me and the shower and my stuff. Back to bed for a bit (bad decision) then up for a second attempt. Shower, packing, brioche and nutella, on the road.

Cycled down a pleasant road for 2 minutes to the river and turned right heading for Blois. This road was to be my last pleasant one of the day.

Clement had told me there was a nice cycle track all the way from Orleans to Blois, making me view the day with misplaced optimism. It was brutally windy. Probably the most brutal wind I had experienced so far. The follwoing video attempts to document the "utter brutality" of the day. Anyway I pushed on and was making surprisingly good progress by the time I stopped for lunch. Tears nearly broke through following a rude expulsion from a restaurant because I was about 3 minutes later than lunch was served for. Cunts. Eventually I found some scran and was feeling a bit more hopeful (mainly cause there was no wind but then again I was in an enclosed square in a village).

Back on the road for a section of the "nice cycle track" that wasn't nearly paved and instead consisted of a shitload of potholes filled with manky water. Then the iPod died. Tears in the saddle for the first time since I left Glasgow! Its funny how easliy misery and a feeling of utter helplessness can manifest itself if a bad feed, wind and the failure of a small music player occur simultaneously.

Pedal on, nearly dark and I pass the sign for Blois. Heaven! After the mania of Clement and Orleans I was praying for some quiet couch hosts and thats what I got. Daniel and Emmanuel were very apologetic at not taking me out for a ruckus night out on the town but I was fucking relieved! A very polite evening of chat, raclette, assorted meats and red wine made me hate my cycling mission slightly less. Thanks folks!

Day 41: Paris to Orleans

Long lie yet again, woop! (little did I know how badly I would need this).

Off on an epic panicked cycle to the station to take the train to Orleans* through the chocked cycle lanes of Paris. Not, however, choked with keen commuters and other city based cycling specimens but instead middle aged female shoppers, shifty looking men, folk with push chairs and all Parisiens between. Arrived at the station in plenty of time planning an easy ticket purchase folowed by a pre journey fag and juice. Not so in France. In France, even though its a Friday afternoon, they elect to open around 5% of the ticket desks and employ folk in silly hats to run about doing literally nothing but looking stressed to add to the chaos rather than serve folk who are about to miss their trains. After 45 minutes and a dollop of irate shouting in shit French I got served, leaving me with 2 minutes to run to the platform and try to load the heaviest bike in history on to the train single handed.

Train journey was slightly more successful though as not only did I get a call from Angus (first contact in about a week) but also a message confirming that I was meeting Sappho in Tours in 2 days, woohoo!

Arrived in Orleans in good time to meet my new couchsurfing host Clement and his lovely cat Captain Asshole. Clement turned out to be lunatic, but a nice one, whose bathroom ceiling had fallen in only 2 days before. We sat about and chatted with his mates until heading out to his friend's house for some utterly rank Pastis and some less rank whiskey. Also they had chickens in their back garden, sound. This, and the next journey, took place in an awesome old VW golf not dissimilar to Angus' Vulcan, accompanied by some drink driving, very loud Beastie boys and drawing on the roof. Not that I knew at the time but we were heading miles out into the countryside to a gig which turned out to be rather excellent. As did the barman who gave me some free beer. This is a terribly filmed video of said band who may play a show at the Halt Bar in the not so distant future. They are called The Ghost Brothers Big Band.




Anyway everyone had a fucking great time and I ended up falling asleep on a particularly uncomfortable chair in the middle of the afterparty since there were a million folk sitting on my "bed".

*Yes folks, I got on another train but only because my silly Tazmanian mate Sappho wanted me to get to Tours for Sunday afternoon: I recieved this news on Thursday night and I couldn't be arsed doing over 150 miles in 2 and a bit days.

Day 40: Paris

Long lie! Awesome but some would argue a waste since Paris is one of the best cities in the world so up and out I went. Having been to Paris with the folks in September, I headed to my favourite cafe in Montmarte, Le Refuge. Sound folk, good scran and a paper stand opposite that sold English language newspapers. Bliss.

Next task: haircut. Not so easy, however, in a country where most folk have fairly traditional barnets and the customer is not sure how to say in French "I need a number zero please on the shaved bit but just leave the long bit cause I cut that myself, thanks". After much confusion in a rather posh Parisian barber shop the man agreed and I got the most expensive haircut I've had in years; a whole 10 euros! Anyway it was a good one and I got some nice flour type stuff applied with a nice soft brush afterwards.

Off in search of the internet and thanks to my fantastic sense of direction (if I say so myself) I soon found the establishment I had visited while escaping from the folks on the last trip to Paris. It was, however, shut. Surprise, surprise! Coffee, fags, more wandering....

I've realised though, that if in doubt of directions, internet whereabouts, accommodation etc, hit the nearest tourist office. But never between 12 and 2.30. Or on a sunday. Or between October and March if your in the countryside. Thankfully it was a Thursday at 3pm and I was in France's largest city so it was open.

I have to say on the side that I love Paris. Loads of folk say that Parisians are miserable bastards who won't help you out unless you shout at them and who infect those who move to the city with their "greyness" but I disagree.

Evening in Paris consisted of brutally expensive internet, wandering, coffee, Christmas lights to shame George Square and a surprisingly large number of sex shops. Not visiting though, obviously just strolling past. Anyway I managed to get lost after a while. I couldn't believe it! Turned out to be quite good though because my couchsurfing host was working late so I had nowt to do in the flat and I ended up chatting to a sound Parisian who speacialised in English swear words due to learning English from gangster rap.

Day 39: Melun to Paris. Approximately 40 miles.

Another hungover cycle, oh dear! However, a beautiful day, good breakfast and a lovely farewell from the mouse infested hotel meant that I was pretty pleased with progress at the start. Heading along a road with forest on both sides and a cycle path lost in the ipod...

...not for long. The cycle path soon disappeared and for some reason when this happens it makes me feel like I shouldn't be cycling on the normal road. Possibly, the fact that I had no rolling tobacco and had drunk far too much the evening prior didn't help. Anyway after some ample route confusion and some retracing of steps I got bored and cycled on the normal road. Its funny the things that become confusing when you have noone to tell you what to do any of the time.

Paris was a couchsurfing stop and the guy had said he might not be back from work until half 7 so I wasn't exactly pushing it. The worry of getting into Paris then realising I was desperate for the loo and had a bike with at least a million stealable items on it was rife. Anyway I managed to hit the Paris suburbs just in time to find out that the guy was in fact off work and heading out at half 5...new deadline. This, of course, should still have been fine if is wasn't for the most epic getting lost of probably the whole trip so far (I'm writing this in Chamonix).

The stort goes that some prick wanted to freak me the fuck out while I quietly went about my lunch and fag break on a Parisian pavement. He decided it would be totally sound to sit and stare at me from a bench for AGES and then make kissing noises as he walked after me when I moved. What an idiot. I kindly asked him to "fuck off" which of course he neither understood or was interested in.

Feeling mildly abused I set off for Montmatre but ended up taking a right far too early and cycling in the wrong direction all together. At one point, confidence waning, I decided to ask some folk who struggled to explain the whole wrong direction thing but eventually succeeded. What a gutter. Back from whence I came except that all the road signs wanted me to go on the motorway, stress stress and then I was officially in Paris proper. Time now: 4.50 pm. Distance from couchsurfing: (a mere 7 miles). No worries you say? Well i'm in a city I don't know, without a map and its rush hour. In addition, France and Algeria had both won at football that day. Oh the fun and games of Parisian cycle lanes!

In the end I got to the allocated square at 5.41 pm pretty stressed out and pissed off but at least I was in Paris! The guy I stayed with, Julien, headed off for his pints so I could sit the fuck down for a bit then wash and eat and smoke and generally make myself feel better. What made me feel even better again was the visit to the pub later on. An excellent establishment with a drunk barman and the allowance of bringing food from an adjacent restaurant in (plates and cutlery and all).

Day 38: Provins to Melun. Approximately 30 miles.

My god did I eat a lot at breakfast, totally starving! Anyway it was baltic again but at least the sun was out and the miles few. Had to get to Melun at a reasonable time due to not having anywhere to stay. Stopped for a coffee and my millionth pain au chocolat in Nangis and managed to reach Melun just after lunchtime. Jefferson Airplane was the order of the day music wise which matched the rolling hills and autumn sun rather well.
First port of call in melun: internet cafe, hurrah! Utilising such establishments prior to finding somewhere to sleep can be a slight pain in the arse though as it means I have to unload all the shit from the bike and struggle into the cafe with it. Anyway its worth it to get some contact with the outside world...Tom, Horse, mother...

Off to the tourist information to enquire as to the cheapest hotel in town. That sucessfully accomplished I headed out to find it. Funny place! Run by a totally sound chap called Kamel (pictured below) and his trusty sidekick (an old man who had lived in France for 25 years and didn't speak any French, ridiculous). The hotel was also home to more mice than live in the Horse's house. Shocking.
Me and Kamel ended up getting rather pished on free beer and smoking hunners of fags inside, awesome! Only for the second time since leaving the UK did I have to concentrate on not throwing up in bed. Thank god tomorrow is short!

Day 37: Troyes to Provins. Approximately 45 miles.

Off to a medival walled city of sorts today. Definately one of the worst starts to any day due to getting brutally lost trying to get out of Troyes. I fucking hate signs that direct you to the motorway! Anyway after much frustration and a fag to calm things down I broke free from the clutches of Troyes and was off in the right direction.

A good day today other than the baltic temperatures- I have officially got into wearing my dad's silly flouro jacket. Also got a totally excellent lunch of chicken enchaladas with chips (very authentic Mexican). Didn't get any human interaction today though so the banter for the day is a bit sparse. Also stayed in a shit cheap hotel with an awful lot of French tradesmen and no dinner. Well, thats not entirely true- I got a Kinder Bueno and a coffee out of a machine and smoked some fags. French X factor in bed...I've had better evenings!

Day 36: Troyes

Sunday morning began with a panic due to the toilets being accessable only through the boys rooms and them being sound asleep. Anyway Jonas eventually woke up and a possible disaster was averted. Feeling slightly claustrophobic I headed into town for food and internet. But wait, I'm in France and its a Sunday. How silly of me to presume that ANYWHERE will be open!

Found a boulangerie that was open at last to got some munch and wandered about for a bit in the vain hope of finding an internet cafe...no luck. Back to the boys for some banter and more pasta with tomato sauce and sausages (this is what we had last night). Surprisingly tasty though and I got a beer with it. Also they had a Scottish guy living in their block so I got to meet him and talk at my normal speed about how awesome Glasgow is for about an hour. I loved it! Also got to meet their Argentinian mate who had a hilarious voice and laugh but was totally sound. If anyone should be described as "bubbly", this is her with me, Jonas and Thiago.

Day 35: Lucy to Troyes. Approximately 60 miles.

Up and out early doors to contend with the hill. Having sucessfully negotiated this the rest of the day went pretty well bar the pissing wet rain and freezing cold. Why am I doing this in November?Stopped for some coffee and a wee heat in a sound wee village with loads of sound folk and good chocolate croissants. Back on the road heading for Arcis-sur-Aube where I passed this:

Thats right, its a plane on a stick, a red phone box, a nuclear device, half a car plastered onto the side of a house and a boat all plonked in the middle of the French countryside.
The rain really got going just before lunch which was nice but had I known what was waiting for me I would have been much happier. Formula lunches: officially the best thing about France and possibly enough to balance out the outrageous opening hours, lack of hard shoulder and shite youth hostels. Possibly. Anyway the situation is you get a buffet choice of charcuterie and cheese etc followed by a massive plate of meat and veg followed by more cheese and bread followed by a dessert of your choice. Then you have to pay about 11 Euro. Gallus!

While I was enjoying my new found lifeline I made friends with these folk who were sitting next to me. Gillian, Melanie and their blind and deaf dog who has apparently beaten all estimates of his lifespan. Good effort.

Still another 20 miles to Troyes but the afternoon was good with a full belly and Michael Jackson on the ipod (again). Got fucked by a hailstorm about 500m from my destination, thanks weather, but I was couchsurfing with two Brazilian exchange students so their apartment was about 40 degrees.

Everyone seemed rather worse for wear following a party they had the night before so we sat about and watched City of God, which was of course excellent, then hit the hay early.

Day 34: Reims to Lucy. Approximately 30 miles.

Oh dear... a day of low morale. The day started well with pretty gallus weather and an efficient exit from Reims. Sadly this good start was marred by numerous brutal hills and busy roads: on with the helmet! Not many miles to do but distance gets forgotten when its all uphill.

Got to Epernay for lunch and a visit to the Lavmatic. Left it a bit late to go to Lucy meaning that the temperature was unpleasantly low. Couchsurfing again with a bird in a tiny wee village which was to be found over more brutal hills...one of which turned out to be completely unecessary. Women cannot give directions, this has turned out to be one of the most important lessons of this whole journey! On top of this I realised that I would have to go back up said brutal hill first thing in the morning, good times!

Eventually arrived at my couchsurfing destination which was indeed in the middle of nowhere. it also transpired that the bird couldn't really speak English and her family coulcd't speak any at all. Ended up sitting on the computer while they all watched French tv and bantered in French....early to bed!

Day 33: Still in Reims

Due to the numerous (and varied) beers of last night Thomas and I agreed to sleep in, awesome. Shutters appear to be all the rage in France which is particularly dangerous for those of us who enjoy sleeping in until the light wakes us up...out of bed at 3pm. Anyway Thomas eventually decided to check if I was still alive and to suggest venturing out to find food and coffee and a bike shop. Off we went to get some pretty good pizza and a fucking excellent strawberry tart, much happier.

My cleats had taken the decision to dislike being attached to my pedals which is an annoyance and a half so Thomas took me to the local sports shop to see if we could get the situation dealt with. It is not, however, particularly easy to explain this when the person you need to understand you speaks no english and you speak no technical french. So into the shop comes the bike and following much clicking noises and dramatic reenactments the man seemed to get the picture. In the end he replaced the cleats for free, what a legend!

Coffee and a visit to another church (this time Romanesque rather than Gothic) then home for a sit and the greatest meal ever. This meal is as follows:

Tartiflette

Ingredients:

potatoes (enough to fill the dish)

shallots

bacon

comte cheese

creme fraiche

roblochon cheese

Essentially all you do is cook everything then stick it in the dish, put the roblochon on top and stick it in the oven until the cheese melts....heaven! Its greasy as fuck and Thomas was silly enough to ask me if I was "ok with greasy food", ha!

Couldn't really move afterwards to settled in for Into the Wild and beer. Good evening all round.

Day 32: Still in Reims

Following the out and out success that was my first ever couchsurf, I elected to stay in reims and continue kipping on random floors for free.

Headed out to meet Thomas, host number 2. Instantly likeable character who gave me directions to his house as he was driving and I, of course, was with bike and associated crap. Unfortunately these directions took me the wrong way down a one way street that was made even more hectic by extensive tram installation works. Anyway I got there after a few shouts from the locals.

Thomas is mental into climbing so we went to the indoor bouldering centre in the afternoon. I have only ever scaled the side of teh climbing frame in Rouken Glen Park so this was pretty exciting! Sadly my arms tend to do nothing excpet support the odd rollup so I don't think that climbing will be my new triumph but I enjoyed in nonetheless.

Following this experience I decided that constant cycling is not the way forward on this trip. A few solid days here and there are all well and good to notch up the miles (and get to where I'm meant to be) but the fun is in meeting new folk and seeing new things, neither of which are possible when staring at the road and concentrating on not getting flattened by speeding lorries.

Back to my new flat, in which I had my own room, for some chilling and beer and banter. One of the beers was a bit rogue: from Brussels and smelt suspiciously of sick. Anyway the second was rather more enjoyable, as was the chatter with Thomas and his mate. Off to the pizza shop then to a pub named "The Pub of the Joking Troll". Metallica playing as we entered and cider on the menu. Ahhh, nice. Thomas and his mates were total geeks meaning that they were really sound folk with funny stories of geekery and such. I liked them all. I also liked all the beer I had, of which there were many, including one with pink elephants on the bottle and one that looked like this:
Back to Thomas' friend's house for some guitar hero. Thats right. Guitar hero. And I loved it! Not played it for years now but I soon found my rhythm and the three of us had a great time! Total geek core, as a certain Mr Yates would say.

Day 31: Charleville to Reims. Approx no miles as I pussied out and got the train.

Up and about in Charleville for breakfast and more internet. Oh how I'm utterly addicted to facebook. Again.

Anyway off to the station to go to Reims and meet my first ever couchsurfing host! Exciting but also slightly nervewracking. Cheers to Mr Bell for pointing out the fact that they could well be murderers or similar. Although, Dad, I reckon at the age of 22 I'm relatively safe from the threat of paedophiles.

Thankfully, the woman was neither a murderer or a paedophile and was in fact a totally sound English teacher with a great flat and a phone that calls European landlines for free. This is her;

Lunch of chicken and tasty couscous style stuff followed by some peace and quiet cause she went out to meet her mate. After satisfying my facebook addiction once more and employing the use of the greatest phone in the world I headed out to see some of Reims. The cathedral is pretty fucking good, although I wish I hadn't seen York Minster as it makes even the best cathedrals look a bit rubbish.

Back to the flat for some dishes - I really miss normal quiet things such as this- coffee and cigarettes. Oh yeah, she let me smoke inside; couchsurfing heaven! She came back so we had some banter about her life and mine and watched some shit TV in the form of the French version of Come Dine With Me. Her name is Pascale and she has two kids about my age and a number of brutal love life experiences. Really sound woman though who made me feel totally at home.

Off to bed following a marathon phone call to London...happy days.

P.S. The photos are trapped in my camera which is trapped in my lodgings but I will add them shortly.

Day 30: Givet to Charleville. Approx 55 miles.

Up in the morning for breakfast with Jaques except that he had forgotten to bring the bread due to being far too pissed. Ha! Well tea with honey and directions to the boulangerie works just as well. On his advice I headed for the routes verts which leads all the way to Charleville down the side of the Meuse river, i.e. its flat.

After getting mildly lost mainly due to stupidity and it being early in the morning the path was fucking great. Pretty much flat the whole way, no cars and once the rain stopped, nice things to look at. Today was the first 'day of the jacket' though... hmmm, maybe I shouldn't have gone on a cycling expedition in October. Stopped in Fumay for 'lunch' but since it was Monday and I was in France, everything was shut. Managed some chips in the rain from a van.

Afternoon was nicer though until I got to Charleville and remembered that had nowhere to stay or a map of the city. Again.

Eventually after circling the town centre a few times I found the holy grail: an internet cafe beside the tourist information! Ended up having to pay 40 Euro for a shitty hotel though but I also got a french phone! Hello people of Scotland! The 10 buck of free credit didn't last an hour from leaving the shop though. Apparently calling home is not practical!

Bed: early. Money: low. Resolution: stop showing up places with nowhere to stay.

Day 29: Namur to Givet. Approx 30 miles.

Lazy day! Easy riding by the side of the Meuse down to Dinant for lunch. Who knew that Michael Jackson went so well with cycling in the Belgian countryside?! Sometimes I sing on my bike now which is probably a slightly worrying sign, not to mention upsetting for those that I pass!

Anyway a pretty uneventful day until I hit Givet in early afternoon in the pissing wet. Other than the fact that I was officially in France again! Country number four:

Benjamin had kindly found some places to stay so I headed to the tourist information for a map. Ferme. Went to a pub to try to locate said hotels. They said that one was ferme but that the other one wasn't far. Off to the hotel....can you guess? Ferme. It appears that rural France opts out of everything on a sunday and monday. Awesome news.

Still raining so decided to go back to the pub to wait and see if the second hotel would open later. Met an old man by the name of Jaques Mathews who had some family in Newcastle, Carlisle and London so he could speak some English. Fucking great banter! We chatted for ages about loads of things and had many many beers. Found out that he has one daughter who is now a vet and is really into horses, he is a widower, he used to be a dentist and his wife was a pharmacologist, he likes to go to London to buy suits, Givet is rubbish to live in and he is a fan of Midsomer Murders.

More beer and chat with the pub folk then dinner of veal and veg and rice (first ever veal and it was super tasty if slightly morally questionable) which Jaques insisted on buying. Gilles, the man in charge, called loads of paces to find somewhere for me to stay but to no avail! Anyway Jaques to the rescue as he said I was welcome to stay in his daughter's room! Awesome! He reminded me very much of my Grandpa except that he smokes a pipe. This is me and Jaques, the saviour of Givet:

Day 28: Namur

A beautiful day in Namur and an internet cafe with phones, heaven! Breakfast then off for a wander into Namur before heading to the boat for lunch with Jerome.

The boat was fucking excellent. It was an old tug boat which is now painted green and blue and has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, sitting room, bit for the engine etc and loads of space on deck for sitting and vegetables and that! This is Jerome (and his excellent hair) and me (looking slightly spasticated) aboard the boat.
Anyway ended up sitting there for hours having some beer and some chat as his girlfrind and some friends came also. Really nice afternoon which makes me thing it would be awesome to have a boat!

Was meant to go do lots of tourist things like see the Citadel and some exhibitions etc but the boat took priority and it was nearly dark by the time I left. Wandered about and got a Belgian waffle with some chocolate on it which maybe counts as being a bit touristy. Maybe. Regardless it was really good.

Interneting to try to find somewhere to stay the next day then some chat with home! Exciting! Back to the hostel for a free haircut by Benjamin. As I said, probably the best receptionist in the world. Here he is in his den:

Day 27: Brussels to Namur. Approx 50 miles.

Up early for breakfast with Erik and the dogs and the cats. Decided to pump up my tyres which resulted in a broken valve...irritating! Anyway I'm getting rather good at changing tubes if I say so myself so all fixed and packed off I went.

Followed the main canal south out of Brussels so as not to get lost which was excellent as it was sunny and flat and quiet, thus:

Cycle cycle and into Halle for a toilet stop, a pain au chocolat and a fag. Perhaps the fag wasn't the best idea as the road out of Halle is a massive hill... It turns out that belgium is not completely flat, again! These hills were not, however, small and mildly annoying such as those on the way to Brussels. Anyway nothing to be done but power on and be thankful that it wasn't windy.

Into Nivelles for lunch of tuna sandwiches then back on the road to Namur. More hills in the afternoon meant that I decided to stop for a coffee in a tiny wee village. Went in and lots of locals (none of whom could speak any English) looked rather puzzled at a young Scottish girl with a brutal haircut and a bike happening upon their pub. After lots of map pointing and terrible French from me they realised what I was up to and they loved it! Really sound folk who insisted on buying me a beer and explaining that the road to Namur contained some "montagne" which i reckoned meant more brutal hills. This is them:

It was actually perhaps a blessing that they suggested "montagne" because it meant i was waiting for a horrific hill the whole way and was pleasantly surprised when I ended up in Namur without such an event. To the tourist office for a map then to the hostel which, thank god, had a room for me!

Beer, beer, beer and chat with Benjamin, the soundest receptionist ever and apparently (not by his own admission) the best guy in Namur. Also met his friend Jerome who delivers groceries on a bike and lives on a boat. He invited me for lunch the next day and thankfully Benjamin had a space for me the next night so I could hang about the next day.

Day 26: Brussels

Oh to be in a house again! With my very own room and everything! Sarah and Erik (my hosts) are great! Lots of good food and chat and rather randomly some Home and Away...I'm sure they will love me for saying that! Spent the morning attempting to organise the next few days but French youth hostels have a terrible website and don't take bookings by debit card, disaster. Anyway definately going to Namur then into France.

Afternoon was spent wandering in Brussels. Got the very efficient underground from Simonis into town to visit the Grande Place:

Full of tourists and weird Belgian men who like to whisper things at me when I go past. Very nice buildings though and lots of wee chocolate shops. More wandering then back to the house for some interneting with home and dinner. Also I love coming to home excitable dogs; definately get a dog when I'm older. Erik and Sarah came home so sat with them and had some chat. Erik told me about a place called Taizé which is a commune type place in France where young people from all over the world can go to meet and meditate and generally have a nice time. It is also where Sarah and Erik met!

Day 25: Brugge to Brussels. Approx 60 miles.

Bye Richard and Greg! Its very weird meeting folk and getting on so well with them then having to leave and possibly never see them again. Although Richard lives in Melbourne now so I'll see him in June, nice!

A beautiful day makes everything easier though and this was one. No wind, sunny, not too cold but not too hot, perfect! Heading for Gent for lunch on quiet roads with cycle paths most of the way. I read in Brugge; "maybe Gent will be as romantic as Brugge one day". I think not. I'm not sure why but I didn't like it much. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn't find the right road out of it for ages...

Eventually back on the road heading in the right direction but it was 3pm but the time I got going. Not good! Still a good while from Brussels....

Cycling was ok in the afternoon but some mild hills put me in a bad mood after days of continuous flat. Its like the rain in Glasgow; it pisses it down most of the time but everyone still gets upset if its dry for three days then the rain returns! By the time I was near Brussels the light was fading and I was getting more and more irritated. The signs were telling me to go into a small town on the outskirts so I decided to ignore them which may or may not have landed me on a motorway. Well folk were going very fast and beeping so the signs were there. Got off that pretty quickly and to my delight I was in Brussels!

Now, just to find the right street and house with no detailed map of Brussels and no knowledge of Flemish. Hmmmm... Eventually found a man who spoke English AND had a detailed map of Brussels. Jackpot. 2 minutes later I was in the house meeting my friend Hannah's parents, their friend Jo, two cocker spaniels and three cats. Happy days!

Day 24: Brugge

Plan for the evening: quiet beer, some reading of the Economist and early to bed. Actual evening: met some awesome guys from Tazmania, have (too) many Belgian beers, talk loads, concentrate on not throwing up in bed. Much better!

Met my new friend Richard for breakfast then out and about for some sightseeing. Had to got back to the hostel to get Greg though because he doesn't like getting up in the morning, lazy bum! Anyway eventually got to some actual stuff so went for coffee and pastries then to the only remaining brewery in Brugge for some morning beer and a tour. This may have been the best tour I have ever been on; lots of wee passages, backwards stairs, beer cans, beer and the soundest/ most enthusiastic guide in existence! This is him:

Also, you get a free beer afterwards! What could be better? Another highlight of the tour was going onto the roof which gave us an awesome view of the city and meant that we didn't have to go up the tower which none of us could really be arsed to do anyway. This is the Tazmanians on the roof of the brewery (left Richard, right Greg, both fucking excellent).

Off for some excellent pasta then a wee ride in a canal boat. Also went to get a map of Belgium since I didn't fancy negotiating the rest of the week by compass. Once Greg had had his afternoon nap we headed out for chips and mayo which is a Belgian thing. And when they say mayo they mean so much that you can't see your chips.

Later on we discovered the delight that is a lack of a smoking ban in Belgium. Hurrah! And... the holy grail of Jo en Europe; a pub that sold Strongbow! Yum yum yum, oh how I had missed the brutal taste!

Met some Australians (they are everywhere) so had more pints with them and decided to leave the Strongbow behind for a pub that did beers for 1 Euro. We then had to find a kebab as Richard and Greg had had one in every country they had been in on their trip. Apparently Berlin was the best and Amsterdam the worst. Brugge was ok but came with a burger bun which lost it points.

Day 23: London to Brugge. Approx 45 miles.

Up at 6am, brutal! Packed up the shit once more and headed to Victoria to catch the train. Just made it due to getting lost in South London, again! A wee nap on the train was excellent but perhaps meant that I wasn't on top of my game cause I must have taken ages to get to the boat...it left without me! Two hours in Dover then which wasn't the prettiest place I have been to on the trip. The white cliffs are still there but are slightly obscured by a massive brutal port complete with concrete and cranes and a number of rather incongrouous 70s buildings. Rank.

Anyway eventually got a boat heading to Dunkirk in northern France. Official Europe! Terror! Although I felt confident in my organisational skills in London, I realised that I had forgotten to get a decent map of either northern France or Belgium. Good times. The compass proved its worth by directing me east. Everyone seemed to think Brugge was directly east in a staight line so thats where I went.

A few hours later, in the dark, still pedalling...oh dear. Folk were now telling me that I couldn't cycle to Brugge but the hostel was booked! Onwards! Around 9pm, fucking AGES after leaving the Horse in London I arrived at Lybeers Hostel, Brugge.

Note: God knows what the employment policy is at this hostel because everyone who works there is nuts. This is one of them:

Over 500 miles done. Nice.

Days 12 to 22: London Town.

London is excellent! Sometimes I come here and I don't like it much and sometimes I think its great. This time is a good time.

Since I arrived on friday I have either been pished or sleeping. Went to a metal gig with the Horse involving a man who had 'brutal' tattooed on the inside of his lower lip. Seriously. Like this except it said 'brutal'. What an idoit.

Saturday was Brick Lane for lunch with Niall then a look about some outrageous bike shops such as this. Beers etc then to the Foundry to see Pikey. Ciders etc then got some homemade burgers and more cider. Totally wasted somewhere in Highbury. The cat escaped which caused some chaos for a bit but thankfully decided to return so I could go to bed with a clean conscious.

Sunday morning consisted of a fucking great breakfast followed by a cycle to the other side of the city. Well Kensington anyway. Back to Hackney for lunch at the Dove then pints accompanied by an Elvis impersonator. Then Tom Jones. Then Johnny Cash. Same guy, different wigs. Awesome banter.

Didn't leave the house on Monday until 8pm in order to go to the pub with Natalya and Chris. Great night, totally pished (again) but I still managed to find my way home from Tottenham Court Road sans map. Well done me!


Tuesday was map shopping and dinner at Vojtech's house. Yummy scran, loads of folk and a fucking sound workshop room! So many tools on the walls, random bike parts and boxes and tubs of screws and bolts and lots of other useful shit. Got the mudguard dealt with since it was flapping about all over the place following the ameteur repair job in Cambridge. Anyway it all works again so cheers Vojtech!

Midweek was a blur of smoke, football on the tv and mice. Oh the mice. Came in late one night, so, not wishing to irritate the horse, headed for the sofa with my sleeping bag....thank fuck I turned the light on to organise stuff cause there were three or four of them on the table having a wee scurry about! One of them just stared right at me for ages until eventually I caved and bolted (or moved as quickly as a slightly stoned slightly drunk terrified Jo can move) upstairs to the Horse who, thankfully was still awake due to a heady mix of mouse terror and the usual Horse related insomnia.


Note: Mouse control folk came soon after this event and we were more or less back in control.


The weekend. Organisation completed. Drinking can begin. Off to the Foundry which appears to have many an advantage: relatively cheap booze, lots of railings, a large pavement suitable for sitting on the ground drinking cans from the shop and its on my way home. Perfect! Lots of chat with lots of folk, too much cider and not enough dinner led to not being able to stand or focus correctly but I had a great night. Even experienced Overdrive who has his own fanclub. Also made a new friend by the name of Joe, snap.

I like London, did I say that already?

Anyway, a very quiet Saturday was had by all in the flat. Watched Ghostbusters 2 which, of course, was fucking excellent. Out and about again but this time to Portobello Road....45 minutes later still not there: London is huge! Went to see some robot animal type things made out of recycled machinery. Lots of fire and noise and excitement! Good banter. Pint and then back to the east, much better. Bagel shop in Brick Lane then to see Natalya and co. Its better in the east apparently, totally foreign sentiment! Ended up in a gallus warehouse party with my new friend... on the way thinking 'I hope this is a warehouse party we're going to and not certain death...hmmm'. But, phew! It was, and it was tres banter. Late late night followed by a cycle for AGES! Weren't even on the map anymore!

Sunday: the end of London. Good start though; breakfast of huevos rancheros, yum yum yum. Lots of snoozing meant that I didnt get to organising until 6pm. 12 hours left! Packing done, sat down to watch Bad Boys 2, which had been discussed on numerous occasions in the flat throughout the week. Especially by Murph. Enjoyably terrible is the term I think. Quiet end to an awesome week. Thanks to Ronald Street!

Day 11: Cambridge to London. Approx 60 miles.

Traffic and hills on the increase. Weather on the decrease. Hmmm...

Headed out on the original London Road through more beautiful villages. Stopped in a village I now can't find on Google maps for lunch at the pub. Loads of directional advice from lots of people which in the end steered me onto the River Lee cycle path from Broxbourne to Bow. Before I found the path I was doing an average of 20mph. I forgot that not all cycle paths are tarmac or straight or quiet. It was nice though, put some tunes on the ipod and slowly but surely made it to London. Popped up from the canal path at Bow Road around quarter to five on a friday evening. Busy!

No map of London and the new challenge of beating the Horse to Liverpool Street Station by six o'clock. After about twenty, "excuse me"s and jumping out in front of a courier to get his map, I got to Liverpool Street at ten to; just in time to phone the Bitch to ruin his bet of me not making it further than Douglas, applying the obligatory brutal eye make-up and having a fag.

Leg 1 complete!

Day 10: Cambridge.

A day of organisation and sleep.

I fucking hate folk who insist on packing every item in their luggage into the loudest strain of plastic bag and then unpacking and repacking the whole lot every morning. Grrrr....

Anyway breakfast then straight back to bed because the best time of day to sleep in a hostel is in fact during daylight hours. Up at one and out into the Daily Cambridge Bike Grand-prix. Isn't it funny how, when the number of cyclists in a city reaches a certain critical point, everyone feels the need to don their competitive cycling hats and race away from every traffic light. Most amusing.

Internet cafe for blog and facebooking then into town for luch and watching silly first years find their way in the social minefield that is university. Never a dull moment: two accidental bike dismounts in an hour and a half.

Having searched for hours last night for a decent old man pub to no avail (I had dinner at Wagamamas) I asked the man with the funny eye in the hostel. He directed me to the Live and Let Live. Awesome. Had a ploughmans for dinner washed down with a cider that wasn't Strongbow. How exotic! Met a totally gallus old man named Dave over a fag who, in the 3 minutes he spoke to me, decided that I am definately going to make it to the end of my journey mainly due to my smile.

Kudos to old man Dave.

Day 9: Thurlby to Cambridge. Approx 63 miles.

The day of dead rats. They were everywhere! According to a local in Ramsey this is due to the weather and aggressive pest control measures by local farmers. Brutal.

Into Cambridgeshire today, satisfying. More country roads and that. Slightly hillier but we ain't talking Mont Ventoux. Made some good time until a woman in St Ives directed me in the wrong direction for a bit then got lost trying to avoid an A road at rush hour on the outskirts of Cambridge. Then came the first mild breakdown. Spoke to Movie over lunch and he says casually, "any mechanical problems yet Jo?", "no" said I....4 hours later and one of the bolts that supports the rack has disappeared so its sitting on my back wheel and I can't move. Typical.

After an awful lot of faffing about which mudguards and racks and tools by the side of the road the rack is secured and away I go! Problem sorted. Although its now dark and my lights are in the bottom of one of the panniers (not even sure which one) and rush hour in Cambridge. Nice!

Eventually found the hostel, phew!

Day 8: Woodhall Spa to Thurlby. Approx 40 miles.

Woke up to a fucking puncture! Brutal. Didn't even hit the road until 10.30 due to more coffee and fags following the trauma of my first puncture. Anyway no panic because I was still in Lincoinshire (flattest county ever) and it was still sunny. Sometimes I think its not the best that its constantly flat and sunny at the moment because, lets be honest, that ain't going to last then I'll be gutted. But maybe I should just enjoy it while it lasts.

Got a haircut today, oh the excitement! The barbers shop in the wee village I stopped at looked slightly concrned when I sat in the waiting area but they shaved it nonetheless. Not very well mind you, went for a shower at the hostel and shit loads of the long stuff fell out! I wonder how long until I have nothing left....

This ended up being 'the day of the racist banter'. Met two guys at the hostel. One a fisherman from the Channel Islands and one a landscape gardener from Lincoin. Ended up in bed at 9.30! Cunts.

Day 7: North Killingholme to Woodhall Spa. Approx 40 miles.

Thank fuck! A good day full of good stuff.

Gallus cooked breakfast before setting off through country roads with no cars and especially no lorries! Got the ipod on the go for the first time which makes everything better. Jefferson Airplane coupled with sun and trees and rolling fields works exceptionally well! Today was pretty uneventful due to everything going so swimmingly. To top it all off I found a cycle path alongside a canal that took me straight to Woodhall Spa.

Arrived at the bed and breakfast- pretty fancy. Wee woman was pretty sound so chatted to her for ages then headed off in search of dinner. Although, again, never take directions from women! Ended up down a dead end residential street...useless. Anyway got to the local pub for an excellent pint of Strongbow and club sandwich (one of my favourite dinners). Sat on my own for a bit until the usual "so what are you doing then?" from one of the more inquisitive locals. Ha! Their faces! Its great telling folk that your cycling around western Europe for 6 months on your own. The folk of Woodhall Spa were totally sound. One of them gave me a tenner that said "Best of luck, hope you succeed!", sound. More pints, more chat then a stumble home.

Day 6: York to North Killingholme. Approx 70 miles.

I went the wrong way. What a gutter. It should have been about 50 miles. Anyway today was probably the worst day so far for a number of reasons:

1. Going the wrong way meant 20 needless miles.
2. Goole. This place should be called Hell but its not so that unsuspecting cycle tourers go for lunch only to find that Tesco cafe is all thats on offer.
3. Scunthorpe. The only place I have been shouted at so far. AND, by an old man on a bike of all things. Horrid, in every way.
4. The A180 which is essentially a motorway filled with massive lorries going at 80mph.
5. Drax and Keadby power stations. Not the most attractive sights to go past.
6. Immingham oil refinery. See above.
7. The wind. 'Nuff said.

Thank god the place I stayed was good. TV and DVD in my own room with a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Awesome.

Day 5: York

Total old person sightseeing today. Off to Yorkminster for a tour. In fairness it is pretty awesome and I did learn that St Nicholas is not only the patron saint of children but also of prostitutes. How nice. Bus tour in the afternoon, on which I fell asleep for a bit in true Grandpa Harris style. Ended up chatting to a really sound woman from Newfoundland, Canada, who suggested we get a curry. So we did. Typical shit looking place with hilarious (without meaning it) waiter but awesome food. She, or rather Jenn, is the manager of the Rabbittown Theatre Company (good name) and one of those people who is totally warm and cheerful and good.

After din dins Jenn went off to a concert and I headed back to an old man pub on the river I had been to yesterday. Sat outside having a few pints while a few groups of dickheads or dullards sat and then left my table. Eventually four guys who seemed totally non-threatening and a bit silly sat down. One of them told one of those "you had to be there" stories which was so bad it was kind of good. Got chatting to them: from Sheffield and Rotherham, civil servants (but not overly pleased about it), late 20s/ early 30s, had been on a stag weekend but stung it because they couldn't be arsed and the other folk were dicks (or something along those lines). Ended up getting some great chat with them and went for a visit to the minster which, of course, led to a rather interesting arguement on theology. Well, perhaps not as interesting for its profound conclusions as for its alcohol fuelled silliness. Anyway one of them makes t-shirts on the side so go look: http://www.dirtyface.co.uk/ Don't be scared by the font, its confusing but the t-shirts and the guy are quite sound.

Day 4: Dufton to York. The lazy day.

Ok folks, I got a train today. Some would say its cheating but I am supposedly doing this for enjoyment so fuck cycling over the A66: "The middle section of the A66 between Scotch Corner on the A1 and Penrith on the M6 forms one of the key trans-Pennine trunk (=massive lorries) routes and has one of the worst road safety records in the UK". No thanks.

The train plan ended up being a great idea as not only did I get to chat to the hostel warden for 3 hours, I also got chatting to a guy on the train who turned out to live just off Victoria Road, sound! Chat, or rather decent chat, is totally invaluable and difficult to find. In addition, the train went over the Pennines which, as nice to look at from a train window, would probably have lost some of its attraction when viewed from the saddle.

Summary of York: very pretty wee streets, some with gallus names i.e. "The Shambles", sound old man pubs, lots of rowers, fucking insane cathedral and A SHITLOAD OF BRUTAL ENGLISH NED STAG PARTIES. Ah well, nothing is perfect I suppose! First tinge of misery since leaving Glasgow. Friday night n all that during which I would normally be getting trollied on Strongbow at the Monkey/ in the Halt with a selection of my favourite folk whereas instead I was wandering aimlessly around York trying to avoid the Stag troops. In the end it turned out that it had pished it down at home and no one had gone out. Although some did still have "a few beers" proven by the wonderful banjo rendition complete with singing I received from Steve around 2.15 in the morning.

Day 3: Boreland to Dufton. Approx 65 miles.

Firstly I would like to say: "I fucking hate those responsible for signposting cycle routes. You are all cunts who have blatantly never ridden a bike in your lives".

Ahhh. Much better! When your already riding a few miles a day it is not fun to end up doing extra due to rubbishly signposted routes or the kind of set up that directs you across the road and back from whence you came as you have reached the "route end". Anyway I got lost for a bit as you can probably tell. Back on the right road headed for Gretna, the site of numerous secret marriages and that. Stopped at a pub for coffee and route checking. Made my first new friend. Rather shittily of me I can't remember his name but he gave me awesome directions and advice and even offered to buy me my lunch. Sound.

Crossed the border, woop! Plain sailing to Carlisle then...the A6...or rather cycling hell in road format. Contiunous hills, 80 mph traffic including massive lorries, no toilet stops and a sign detailing the number of fatalities and serois injuries in recent years. Finally got to Penrith for scran and reflection on the fact that I was still alive. Onwards to Dufton YHA which is apparently "not far".

Note: When cycle touring never rely on the advice of car drivers or women. This may sound pretty sexist and hard to achieve but it has proven itself in the past week (I'm writing this in Cambridge, day 9).

Farm , farm, farm , hill, hill, hill, village, village, village. Sun is starting to set and I still wasn't at Dufton. Uh oh! No streetlights in the Cumbrian countryside apparently! Eventually I got to Dufton asking myself the following 1. Had I bitten off more than I could chew, 2. Why I didn't give up smoking before I left and 3. Why I decided to drink, smoke and sit about at the Monkey for the week before rather than doing some proper training of some kind. Only person staying in a 30 bed hostel so decided a joint probably wasn't the best idea and hit the hay around 10, again! Rock and roll.

Day 2: Douglas to Boreland. Approx 40 miles.

Up bright and early after a fucking great night featuring surprise appearances from the Bitch and Stoofa! Chilli and champange washed down with profiteroles and cream. Good healthy start!

First stop Abington services (mildly depressing) for coffee and scran. The roadkill begins...even some recognisable kidneys still attached to each other, yeuch. Headed to Moffat on a pretty good road beside the motorway so got some lunch in "The Rublin' Tum". Good name or what. A nice lady in the cafe gave me some alternative directions to the B&B which saved some miles. Unfortunately she is obviously NOT a cyclist cause it was pretty much horrifically uphill the whole way. Had to get off and push a few times! Anyway got there in the end to the Netherboreland "Chariots of Fire Centre". Another wonderfully titled establishment. Really funny place. Total middle of nowhere. I was the only person in the place so dinner consisted of me sitting in silence in the middle of an African themed dining room being served a disgusting amount of soup, macaroni with bacon and peas, salad, chips and coffee periodically by a large friendly woman who would appear exactly on time. Early to bed partly from being unbelieveably stuffed and partly due to not being fit enough for what I'm doing.

Day 1: Home to Douglas. Approx 35 miles.

It begins! Totally surreal start to the trip: cycled out of my driveway waving goodbye to Robbie and heading for the unknown. The bike weighs a fucking ton! Two full size rear panniers (full to the brim), tent, helmet, lock, two water bottles, jacket, handlebar bag...not to mention me!

Off to see the Winker toady, excellent to have someone I know on my first night. Stopped in Strathaven for lunch. Totally paranoid about the bike getting nicked on the first day but thankfully the nice folk in Strathaven let it be. Meaty weather and some encouragement from an old man dog walker made the first day pretty easy.

first post!

Strangely I am currently writing to myself as I have no followers yet!

Thought I should get into this blog thing though so that I can avoid emailing folk drivel about what I've been doing (i.e. eating, sleeping, cycling and not much else!) when I'm away.

Start date is now set for the 9th of October. Leg 1: Glasgow to London...